Sunlight slanting in from the west, glinting off bright-polished chrome.

Johnny Cash’s voice growling over the sound system.

“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine.”

In between a rectangle of orange traffic cones set up in the parking lot of Al Mac’s Diner were classic cars, chrome and metal flake paint, hoods propped open to show the engines.

“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine...”

In a Hawaiian shirt with cars all over it, John Michael stands next to his banana-yellow 1969 Plymouth Barracuda.

John Michael lives on New Boston Road with his wife Diane.

John and Diane married in 1969, the year John bought the ‘Cuda for $2,839 at Giant Weir Auto Sales.

“No radio,” he says. “I didn’t have the extra $54.”

The license plate on the front of the ‘Cuda reads “KEPR.” Read the plate as “KEEP HER.”

“Her or the car?” I ask.

“Both,” John says. “I haven’t had to rebuild her.”

“He’s a wise guy,” Diane chimes in.

Once upon a time, Diane drove this car nearly every day. A 1969 Barracuda is not a complex piece of machinery.

“It was my daily drive,” Diane says. “But it’s hard to drive. No power steering. No power brakes.”

Having such a sharp car must surely have helped John in his wooing.

“Sure, it helped,” Diane says, laughing.

John and Diane have seen a good piece of life. He’s 62.

The ‘Cuda’s seen some ups and downs, too.

“It was in the garage for 15 years,” John says.

“We used it to store stuff in,” Diane says.

John couldn’t give up the ‘Cuda. He had it repainted. He had it checked out, made ready to run.

John pops the hood.

“It’s a six-cylinder,” he says. “Nobody’s interested in these. They all want the big engine.”

Inside the old ‘Cuda, the white vinyl upholstery is cool to the touch. The first thing a visitor from 2013 notices is what ISN’T in the interior. No CD player. No GPS. No cruise control. No power locks or windows. No four wheel drive switch. The foot button on the floor turns the hi-beams on and off.

The car’s long and low. There’s plenty of room all around the engine. The trunk is, by today’s standards, huge.

“You could get three dead bodies in there,” John says.

The Michaels are getting some good times out of the old ‘Cuda.

“Three weeks ago, we did Route 6,” John says.

“Seven weeks,” Diane says.

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Rolling down what American author Jack Kerouac called, “the mother road,” John and Diane found that motel and cafe owners who served them would often call the next stop, to tell some other business owners that the “‘Cuda was comin’.”

“It was very comfortable going cross country,” Diane says.

The ‘Cuda has 81,000 miles on it so it’s got a ways to go.

“Our granddaughter is going to get it,” Diane says.

The Michaels come here on most car show nights. Eat a little, show off the Barracuda, listen to the music.

The sun is slanting down over the river.

“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine...”

Marc Munroe Dion’s “Side Streets” column draws on his knowledge of the area and his affection for the city where he was born. It’s about people and places and history and the voice that comes only from one corner of southeastern Massachusetts.